


A Little Tumble

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Injury, IronDad and SpiderSon, Loki is a piece of work, Peter is a klutz, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but just in case, not too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 04:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15878547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: But once Peter is on his own two feet in a pair of sneakers on the ground, he becomes a walking, talking disaster.  Tony is now used to the frequent bangs, clangs, and squeaky curses that come with Peter joining him in the lab.  Or the living room.  Or walking on the sidewalk.  Or sitting in the dining room.  Spiderman can do whatever a spider can.  Peter Parker would find a way to trip on an ant.





	A Little Tumble

**Author's Note:**

> Back to the POV of our boy Tones, who we just love to traumatize.
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

When Tony designed and built Peter’s first suit, he’d prioritized flexibility. When he watched “the Spider Man from YouTube,” he knew that while safety features would be paramount (and how, considering his own disastrous experiences), the kid would need be to able to move and cling to surfaces in it. AND Tony had calculated at least a few more inches in height--he was only fourteen when he’d started building it--so it had to grow with him. He’d figured the monitoring protocols would help make up for the logistical lack of brute armor.

Discovering how to effectively use the nanoparticles had been the windfall he’d been waiting for, especially after that whole building incident. Tony had found out through his own means, and it’d taken every ounce of his self-control to not fly the suit straight through his bedroom window that very minute and demand to know why he’d kept something like that from him. The kid had been under enough pressure after May found out.

But with the nanoparticles, he was able to get the flexibility the kid needed with the stability of an Iron Man suit. For as proud as he was of the Mark L, 17A was truly a _pièce de résistance_ , even if it wasn’t able to keep Peter safe from a mad Titan and the power of the Infinity Stones. Tony is now tasked with outdoing that masterpiece; while the suit in Peter’s watch has more features, he hasn’t quite cracked how to efficiently make the suit as strong as he’d be comfortable with. Which some part of him knows is impossible; he’d only be comfortable with the kid entirely encased in industrial-strength bubble wrap and locked in an impenetrable fortress.

How did May do this for over a decade without going completely gray? Every time he sees Peter scale a wall or nonchalantly jump off a building, his heart slams up into his throat. It’s amazing, if terrifying, watching him flip and bounce and spin through the air as if gravity didn’t apply to him. The kid really is a wonder. 

But once Peter is on his own two feet in a pair of sneakers on the ground, he becomes a walking, talking disaster. Tony is now used to the frequent bangs, clangs, and squeaky curses that come with Peter joining him in the lab. Or the living room. Or walking on the sidewalk. Or sitting in the dining room. Spiderman can do whatever a spider can. Peter Parker would find a way to trip on an ant.

Which is why Tony should have--and usually does--pay better attention to the state of the floor wherever Peter may be. But he’s deep in thought when the door beeps open and Peter joins him in the lab. It’s the second-to-last evening they’ll be at the compound before heading back to the city, and he’s forgotten the mess he made on the floor, including the thick, kicked up mat near the garage’s small den that he sits on when fiddling with car parts or when he needs to force the kinks out of his nearly fifty-year-old back.

Tony spares a quick glance behind him before turning back to his screen. Peter is animatedly talking to Thor, who’s in street clothes and, as usual, trailed by that damn cat. Like every other Avenger, Thor immediately took a liking to Peter, proclaiming him to be a “great warrior.” They all almost seem to be in a competition for Peter’s attention, and Tony gets a sick little kick out of it, knowing that at the end of the day, he’ll always be the kid’s favorite.

“Yeah, Mr. Thor,” Tony is only half paying attention to what Peter is saying. “I think--”

The sudden crash of metal and the shatter of glass is bad enough, but the sharp cry that accompanies them is blood-curdling. Even Thor lets out a yelp, and that damn cat shrieks like it’s being murdered. Tony is out of his chair in an instant and over to source of the noise. The bile immediately rises into the back of his throat.

Peter is tangled in the metal of the coffee table, surrounded by shattered glass, and it looks like the thing came alive and outright attacked him. Blood is dripping from his nose and a gash in his lip, and his left leg is tangled in the mat, twisted at an unnatural and sickening angle. Tony dashes over as fast as he can get there, his knees cracking painfully as he drops down beside Peter. Thor is standing above them, mouth open, as if his brain can’t comprehend what it just saw.

“Mr.-Mr. Stark…”

“You’re alright,” Tony immediately spits out, a shudder running down his spine as the last time he said that flickers through his brain. “You’re alright.”

And Peter is alright, or at least alright enough that they can fix it. But it’s gruesome, and Peter is staring up at him much in the way Thor is staring, like he has no idea what happened. Tony knows the second he sees Peter lift his hand to wipe at his nose that the shock is going to disappear very quickly.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter practically shrieks when his hand comes back bloody, and Tony is once again reminded just how _young_ Peter is. Tears immediately begin to run from his eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Tony leans over, mindful of the glass on the floor, reaching to lay his hand on Peter’s right wrist. The moment he brushes against it Peter howls and jerks, breaking into full on sobs. “Hey, bud,” Tony reaches instead for the back of Peter’s head, guiding it down to the floor. “Just lay down. You still got both eyes and all your teeth...” he tries to soothe, discretely palpating Peter’s skull to make sure that’s in one piece. “Everything else we can fix.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter wails, choking a bit on his tears. “I-I don’t know wha-what happened, I was walk-walking--”

“I know,” Tony raises Peter’s right arm and lays it on his chest, as gently as he can. Peter is absolutely pitiful when he cries like this; Tony doesn’t like that this isn’t the first time he’s seen it, and it probably won’t be the last. “You were walking, and the coffee table attacked you.” He tries to joke, but Peter is having none of it.

“My-my leg,” he hiccups, trying to sit up. Tony has to push him back down.

“Lie back. It’ll be fine--FRIDAY, alert Bruce and tell him to get to the Med Bay, take scans of the kid and send them down to him--”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

“--Bruce will look at it and set it,” Tony struggles to conceal the dread in his voice. He knows from experience that any pain medication they have at the compound won’t work with Peter’s enhanced metabolism (a broken rib incident fighting some asshole in a rhinoceros costume), and that anything they need to set will have to be done without anesthetic. He curses himself for not having had Bruce get on that in the months they’ve been here. He thought they’d have some time before any emergencies. “And then you’ll be all healed up in a few days terrorizing more coffee tables.”

“Banner will fix it, young spider,” Thor seems to have snapped out of his stupor, looming over them. The cat is sitting calming on its haunches behind him. “Banner is quite the talented doctor--”

“Oh god,” A fresh wave of tears starts to fall as Peter seems to sudden become aware that _Thor_ just witnessed his nose dive. He twists and tries to hide his bloody face; Tony has to quickly brush glass out of the way so he doesn’t cut himself on top of everything else. “Oh god, oh god, Mr. Stark! Th-Thor just saw me, me--”

“Think nothing of it,” Thor booms, with an awkward, desperate, almost-smile on his face. Thor is warm and kind and surprisingly good with the children Tony has seen him with, but he doubts he’s ever been face-to-face with an injured, screaming, enhanced teenager. “After Banner fixes your leg, I will tell you about the time Stark--”

“Ok, Point Break,” Tony cuts him off, turning Peter’s head around to face him so he can try and wipe some of the blood off his face with his sleeve. His face is a mess of blood and tears, which has somehow migrated up to his forehead. “Kid, you are gruesome looking.” He turns back to Thor. “Lift up that metal,” he nods to one of the bars of the coffee table. Thank god Peter didn’t end up with one rammed through his stomach. “Gently. I need to slide him out without hurting his leg.”

Thor nods as if receiving his most serious orders ever, bending over to very gently lift the metal off Peter’s leg. He’s crying so hard he can’t struggle as Tony grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him along the floor and out of the mess of the table remains. His leg comes free of the twisted mat rather easily, but Tony’s stomach lurches when he can see how badly twisted it is. 

“Ok, ok, buddy,” Tony gently runs his fingers through Peter’s hair. “You’re out. Now we just have to get you down to Bruce.” He pats his cheek and looks over at Thor. “I’m gonna need you to carry him, or I have to get my suit. He’s a lot heavier than he looks.”

“I don’t want to hurt his leg further, Stark.”

“You won’t,” Tony turns back to Peter, who has quieted a bit, now that he’s free of the table remains. Tears are still running freely from his closed eyes and he hiccups every few breaths. “Did you hear that, Pete? Thor’s gonna pick you up, and we’re gonna head down to Bruce.” Peter doesn’t answer so Tony pats his cheek again. “Hey, buddy? You there?”

“Y-yeah,” Peter opens his eyes, releasing more tears. Suddenly, a fresh wave of horror washes over his face. “May--”

“May will be out with Pepper for a few more hours. We have some time to get this mostly fixed,” Tony reassures him, knowing it’s he who has to worry about May’s reaction, not Peter. The two women took a drive to an outlet mall an hour away; despite now having all the money in the world at her disposal, Pepper still loves outlet shopping as much as she did in college.

“Ok, ok,” Peter nods shakily, blood starting to drip down his neck from his nose and lip. 

“Ok, Thor, get over here,” Tony pushes himself to his feet, moving back slightly so Thor can lift Peter off the ground.

“Stark was not kidding, Man of Spiders,” Thor tries to joke as he stands, the broken teenager in his arms. “You are sturdy.”

Peter doesn’t answer, his eyes darting around until he can see Tony again. “See? Not so bad,” Tony reassures, probably himself more than Peter or Thor. He squeezes his shoulder and Thor rearranges him so he’s tucked securely against his chest. “Let’s get down to Bruce.”

The trip down to the Med Bay takes longer than Tony would have liked it to, but they make it in one piece, and Peter’s crying has all but stopped, save a hiccup every few breaths.

“Jesus, Tony, what happened?” Bruce is on them in an instant, leading them into a small bay with a bed. FRIDAY's scans of Peter are hanging in the air over a tray of supplies. 

“Kid tripped and fell,” Tony sighs, pulling up a stool to sit at the head of the bed. He watches, stunned, as that damn black cat slips in the room and under a chair in the corner. “Did a number on his leg.”

“I can see that,” Bruce quickly washes and dries his hands. “Looks like his arm and nose, too.”

“Yeah.”

Peter grimaces and fresh tears start to fall as Bruce gently picks up his arm and holds it high, tugging gently on his fingers. 

“Peter,” Bruce lays his arm down, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw and did. “Did you hit your head?”

“N-no. Just my n-nose, on the floor.” Peter sniffs hard, and Tony can practically hear the clots of blood going down his throat.

“Don’t do that, kiddo,” he reaches over and wipes the tears off his cheeks with his thumb, careful of his nose. “If too much gets in your stomach you’ll get sick, and no puking until your leg is taken care of.”

“Yeah, about that…” Bruce gently reaches out and palpates the side of Peter’s leg, and the kid almost jumps off the bed, his skull narrowly missing Tony’s chin. His scream is almost as blood-curdling as the one he let out when he first fell.

“Easy kid,” Tony voice quivers as he wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders. 

“It’s going to take a bit of work to set it...Tony, do we have a sedative that will work with his metabolism?”

“No,” Tony squeezes Peter’s shaking frame closer to his chest; he’s started crying quietly again. “That was one of the things I wanted us to start working on when things settled.”

Bruce sighs and turns to throw a look at Thor, who’s standing silently in the corner of the bay, a horrified look on his face. He turns back to Peter, his face serious. “Peter, we need to set your leg.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter hiccups trying to shift and look up at Tony, grabbing at his t-shirt. The look of fear in his eyes is heartbreaking. 

“I know, Pete,” Tony sighs, swiping at his wet cheek again. He taps the housing unit on his chest, and nanoparticles shoot down his arm to form a gauntlet around his hand. “It’s going to hurt, a lot. But just for a minute,” Tony tries to soothe, but even he can hear the quiver in his voice. He guides Peter down to the bed as he starts to sob again in earnest. It shakes him to his core. “Here,” he prys his hand off his shirt, settling it in the gauntlet. “Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to.”

“Mr. Stark--”

“I know, I know,” Tony can feel the panic rising in his chest; he’d hoped to go the rest of his life without hearing Peter cry for him again. He rests his free hand on Peter’s head, winding the sweaty curls through his fingers. “If you have to throw up, make sure you completely destroy these jeans, ok, kiddo?” He tries to joke, to calm them both down. It doesn’t work, and Peter just starts crying harder, trying again to curl into him.

“Just do it, Bruce,” Tony orders, trying to straighten Peter on the bed before he loses his resolve and Peter ends up spending the rest of his life with a crooked leg.

“Alright,” Bruce sighs, looking skeptical, but he dutifully reaches for Peter’s leg again, scissors in his hand to cut up his jeans.

“Stop!” Peter shrieks, choking and gagging on his cry. “No, no, NO, I can’t..” Tony can feel the gauntlet denting and creasing as Peter squeezes on it. He always forgets how strong the kid really is.

“I know it hurts, Pete,” Tony presses down on one shoulder and swipes at his cheeks and the blood on Peter’s chin. He just smears it more, and if possible it makes the poor kid’s face look worse. “But you need to lie as still as possible for Bruce, or I’m going to have to put the whole suit on…”

“No, Mr. Stark, please--PLEASE!” Peter almost jumps off the table; Bruce is moving his leg again, trying to cut up the leg of his jeans. It’s difficult; despite his screams the kid is trying to stay still, he’s just not very good at it. Until they can figure out an anesthetic--which from this moment on is Tony’s main priority--he needs to knock something together that can hold him down. Maybe an electrified table.

“Kid, I know, I know,” Tony is barely able to hold his own tears in now; he’s immensely glad May isn’t here to see this. He leans over and presses his chin into Peter’s forehead. “But the more you struggle the longer it’s going to take--”

“Tooooonnnyyyy,” Peter wails as Bruce pulls off his sneaker and sock, pulling on the wrecked limb. “I can’t--I can’t, PLEASE!” The gauntlet cracks under Peter’s grip.

“Pete--”

Suddenly the damn cat darts out from under the chair; Tony blinks and the cat isn’t a cat anymore. “For the love of all the gods…” a pale, lanky man bounds over to the bed and pushes two of his fingers against Peter’s pale, sweaty forehead. He drops back into the pillow, eyes flickering closed, hand dropping from Tony’s gauntlet. Tony would probably be less horrified if Peter’s face hadn’t immediately melted into a serene, peaceful expression.

Instantly his gauntlet is raised and pointed at Loki’s face before anybody can say anything else.

“The child is asleep, Stark,” Loki snarls, more offended than anything else. He turns to Bruce. “And I am going to say this in advance: what _is_ the point of the fancy degrees you like to brag about if you can’t create an anesthetic that actually works on this boy? I won’t always be here when he trips on himself. Although this one was quite spectacular.”

“Uh, well, when this is finished, I’ll start--”

“When will he wake up?” Tony doesn’t lower the gauntlet. He is none too grateful that his brain is being forced to finally accept this, especially when his kid has two broken limbs, a broken nose and is covered in blood.

“An hour. So I suggest you hurry, Dr. Banner.”

“Loki…” Thor growls from the end of the bed. Through his slightly panicked haze Tony can tell he’s more exasperated than angry, probably that their little ruse has been exposed. Tony is going to have a talk with him later. A very stern talk.

“The child’s cries were pathetic, brother,” Loki shrugs, sauntering over to a chair in the corner of the bay. “Even I’m not that heartless.” He rolls his eyes, and the way he sits makes him look more like the cat than a man. “Put your toy away, Stark. He won’t feel anything until he wakes up.”

“Um, well,” Bruce clears his throat, rather meekly. Tony would say he looks chastened. “Is there anything you can do to help once he’s woken up? He heals quickly but he’ll be in pain for a day or two, and it’ll take me a bit to synthesize something…”

“Not unless you’d like him asleep the entire time.”

Bruce looks like he’s about to agree, but Tony cuts him off. “No. If it’s manageable, I’d rather he’d be awake. And I’m sure his aunt would too.”

“He’s your child, Stark,” Loki settles back into the chair, as if daring Tony to say anything else. Tony glares at him, he has half a mind to raise the gauntlet again and blast him through the wall to prove a point, but Loki just sneers. “Don’t bother. Your child cracked that pitiful glove of yours. Impressive, how strong he is. And the clock is ticking.”

Bruce knows it, too. He nods. “Tony, clean the blood off his face as best you can. His lip probably looks worse than it is, but I’ll need to make sure, and set his nose as soon as we’re done with his leg.”

Tony swallows hard and retracts the nanotech from around his hand. “What about his arm?”

“That’s a pretty clean break, Tony,” Bruce pushes his glasses up his nose. “When I held it up when you first got here, it set it. It’s probably already started to heal, and when we’re done with this leg I’ll get a soft cast around it.” He gently palpates Peter’s leg again. It’s turned quite a nasty shade of dark purple and is swollen. “Tony, there’s gauze and saline behind you. Thor, stay close; if this has started to heal, I’m going to need you to rebreak the bones.”

Tony doesn’t miss Thor’s flinch as he turns to the counter against the wall, shaky hands grabbing several squares of gauze and a plastic bottle of sterile saline. He sits back on the hard metal stool and wets the gauze, then proceeds to wipe the blood off Peter’s face as gently as he can. 

“You are an amazing mess, buddy,” Tony murmurs, trying to ignore any sound coming from the end of the hospital bed as Bruce works on Peter’s leg. He’s dead to the world, face relaxed and breathing even and deep. Tony sends up a silent prayer to whatever gods may exist--and begrudgingly, one over to the bored-looking god in the chair near the wall--that the kid doesn’t stir in the slightest as he scrubs hard at the blood around his nostrils and upper lip. A bruise is rapidly forming across the bridge of his nose and across his left cheek. “You’re lucky you didn’t take out an eye.”

A loud crack sounds throughout the small bay and Tony’s stomach flips; he looks down the table to see Thor’s large hands around Peter’s small ankle (has the kid always been this tiny?).

“That should do it,” Bruce motions for Thor to let go and step away. “Let me just set his nose, then we’ll get casts on him, and we can try and manhandle him into some sweats while he’s asleep.

“Ok,” Tony breathes a sigh of relief, pressing his nose into Peter’s hair. “You’re gonna kill me, buddy.”

******

Sure enough, approximately an hour after Loki tapped Peter’s forehead, his eyes flicker open. Tony hasn’t left the side of the bed; every few moments he finds another spot of dried blood on the kid’s face he needed to scrub off. Peter wakes just as he’s scrubbing at the angle of his chin with a groan and a reflexive flick of his arm, the bad one, which is securely encased in a soft wrist cast.

“Easy there, Spider-baby,” Tony murmurs, gently sweeping the wet gauze along Peter’s chin.

“M’sser Stark?” Peter flinches, and then flinches again as the movement disrupts his newly set nose.

“The one and only,” Tony smiles, smoothing an errant, slightly sweaty curl off the kid’s forehead. He’s rather sticky and gross and definitely needs a spray-down, but Tony has no idea how they’d approach a shower with two out-of-commission limbs. It was hard enough getting him into some sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he’d been dead to the world at the time. “He lives.”

“Wha--” Peter swallows hard and grimaces; Tony wonders if some blood is still dripping down his throat. “What happened? Did Dr. Banner figure out a way to put me under?”

“Nooooo,” Tony chuckles and grimaces himself. “We had a little help.” He nods over to the chair in the corner, where Loki is still sitting with a bored look on his face. Tony still isn’t sure how to feel about the entire situation. The demigod sitting a few feet away has murdered dozens of humans, never mind how many others throughout the universe, not to mention initiated an avalanche of trauma and misery that Tony has been dealing with for six (actually ten) goddamned years, but both Thor and Bruce seem to trust him and he helped his kid, so…

“You, spider-child, are a walking disaster,” Loki deadpans, his steely eyes changing from blue to green and back again as they flick across the room.

Peter’s eyes narrow for a bit as he takes in the man in the chair, then turns back to Tony. “I told you he wasn’t a cat.”

“Yes, you did,” Tony takes Peter’s wrapped hand and gently lays it back on the bed. “Lay still.”

“Is-is my leg ok?”

“Yeah, Bruce and Thor reset it. You get a fancy cast until at least tomorrow.”

“Oh, man,” Peter brings his good arm up to cover his face. “I can’t believe a god saw that.”

“Two gods!” Loki pipes up from the corner. “Don’t worry, child. We’ve both seen worse.”

“And Dr. Banner. Oh, god,” Peter practically wails into his forearm. “Guess I’ll die!”

“No dying,” Tony gently maneuvers his arm back to the bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like the time I got hit by a train, Mr. Stark.”

“You got hit by a--?!? No, you know what, never mind. I already told you, no stories like that unless I’m sedated.” Tony runs his hand through Peter’s hair again. “Is it manageable? Or do you need to sleep it off?”

Peter tries to scrunch his nose in thought, but hisses through his teeth at the pain. Still he shakes his head. “I think I’m alright. At least for now.”

“You let me know if it’s not, you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Alright,” Tony pats his shoulder and stands up. “I’m going to go get Bruce and Thor and we’ll help you upstairs. And no more shaving decades off my life for the rest of the day.”

Getting back into Tony’s private wing wasn’t nearly as much of a struggle as it could have been, considering Thor just heaved Peter off the bed and marched off towards the elevators. The sleek black cat running ahead of them apparently didn’t think they moved fast enough, however, and turned around to glare at them several times.

Once Thor had Peter deposited safely on the large couch, and Bruce had carefully propped Peter’s casted leg and ordered Tony to call him if they needed him, or Loki, they were left alone. The black cat, however, made sure to send one last angry glare at Tony before the elevator doors closed. Tony’s brain would have to deal with that later. Right now he just needed a moment to relax with his kid before May came back in what was sure to be a whirlwind. 

“Ok, kiddo, now that you don’t have to protect your pride, how’s the leg?” Tony plops down on the large sectional, setting two large bowls of ice cream on the coffee table. “And arm? _And_ nose?”

“They’re fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls his eyes, and is clearly in more pain than he’s willing to admit. “And what makes you think I don’t care about my pride around you?”

“Because I’ve seen you at your worst, kid,” Tony throws his arm around Peter’s shoulder.

“Ok, I think we need to erase Titan from our collective knowledge, at least--”

“Not that,” Tony reaches forward and picks a bowl off the table, swallowing down a gag at the memory of Peter crying as his body disintegrated in his arms flickers through his mind. “When Scary Girl sprayed Spiderman in the face with pepper spray. And then Spiderman threw up in his multi-million dollar mask. And then I had to clean it.”

“Ok, I didn’t know she didn’t realize I was right behind her,” Peter takes the bowl of ice cream and awkwardly balances it in his lap.

“That super-anxiety of yours didn’t warn you?” Tony will not call it his _spidey-sense._ Not a chance, and damn Pepper for encouraging him.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Peter looks glumly down at the bowl of ice cream in his lap, holding the spoon awkwardly in his left hand. “Ok. This is harder than it looks.”

“I draw the line at feeding you.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you to,” Peter snaps back, pointedly lifting the spoon to his mouth with his left hand. The ice cream almost slips off, but he makes it. “And be nice, or when you’re old and infirmed in ten years I won’t plug in your motorized scooter at night.”

“Ok, I’ll be taking that back!” Tony makes a show of grabbing the bowl of ice cream away from Peter, reaching forward to grab his spoon out of the bowl on the table and digging in his newly acquired bowl as quickly as he can. “Mmmm. Efficient ice cream.” 

“You’re the worst,” Peter narrows his eyes and tries to scowl, but it really just looks like a golden retriever puppy throwing a tantrum. He can’t reach the bowl still on the table without jostling his leg.

“And you’re pretty confident for someone who can’t get off the couch on his own,” Tony shoves another mouthful in, then reaches for the bowl on the table and sets it in Peter’s lap. “You’re lucky I have no urge to explain to your aunt that I starved you, on top of all this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Peter slowly resumes feeding himself ice cream with his left hand. “She knows I’m a klutz.”

“You’re wearing a suit all day, every day, from now on, Underoos.”

“The suit won’t keep me from being a klutz, Mr. Stark.”

“No but it’ll keep you from breaking two, no three, bones when you wipe out on a glass coffee table.”

“That won’t be happening, Mr. Stark. Nobody knows Spiderman is still in high school,” Peter sighs. “At least I got everything packed up last night.”

Tony kicks his feet up on the table and sinks back into the couch. “You excited to be going back?”

“Not really. I miss Queens, but...I know you didn’t go to high school, but it’s pretty terrible.”

“I’ve heard,” Tony throws an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “And if anyone ever tells you these are the best days of your life, tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“Nobody says that anymore, Mr. Stark. We all know high school is a load of bullshit,” Peter drops his spoon back in the bowl, apparently needing a break from trying to feed himself with his non-dominant hand. “I wish we could stay here. Vis could teach me.”

Tony’s heart clenches at Peter’s wistful tone. Apparently they were all silently dreading the return to regular life. “Well…” he remembers what Pepper told him. _Be the grown-up, Tony_. “As fun as it would be to hide up here forever, we can’t. Even I have to deal with SI shit. Not to mention clean-up, in general. The Feds are already flooding my inbox.”

“I know. But everyone’s going to be so far.”

“Nah. They’ll all be at the Tower all the time--they have no idea how to feed themselves. And I’m pretty sure Steve and Barnes are going to be looking for something in Brooklyn, near where they grew up,” Tony pulls his feet off the table and sits up straight. He turns to look Peter in the eye. “And you have that watch,” he reaches and taps the band around his wrist. “I’m only a few minutes away.”

Peter smiles sadly. “I know, Mr. Stark.”

“Besides,” Tony sits back into the couch. “Your friends are back home. And you don’t have to explain to them what a yeet is.”

“Yeet isn’t a thing, Mr. Stark.”

“Whatever,” Tony haves his hand dismissively and resumes eating his ice cream. “And frankly, with the way things are going I’ll be out of coffee tables within the week.” He lightly nudges Peter in the side, pleased when he gets a small giggle. “Now hurry up and eat that. We have a very serious call to make to your aunt to let her know about your little tumble, so she doesn’t walk in here and skin me alive.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Tony is going to have WORDS with Thor...


End file.
